


A Scandal in Matrimony

by thedragonagelesbian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Fix-It, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Multi, a touch of angst as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedragonagelesbian/pseuds/thedragonagelesbian
Summary: Irene Adler's plans for a happily ever after are put on hold when a former client/stalker starts harassing her again-- this time with the help of London's consulting detective. And his consulting detective boyfriend. And if that's not enough, her girlfriend Molly Hooper has engagement on the mind...With an eye towards faithfulness to the original-original source material and not engaging in lesbophobia or queer-baiting, this is a fix-it for 'A Scandal in Belgravia'.





	A Scandal in Matrimony

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to begin by justifying this fic's existence- or, more precisely, the fact that I've written BBC Sherlock fanfiction and am now posting it somewhere in 2018. Make of this author's note what you will. It's probably a sign that I've fallen prey to cringe culture. 
> 
> I got into Sherlock comparatively late- which is to say, around the time when all my friends/people I followed on Tumblr started rightly criticizing it. Because of this, while I never interfaced with the fandom much, I continued to produce content for the show long after it fell out of fashion, as it were. This was almost exclusively in the form of online RPs I did with my partner at the time.
> 
> With the objectivity of hindsight, I can recognize that what I loved about the show was not the show itself, but the intricate, branching alternate universes my partner and I were able to make in our RPs. And that I stand by. For better or for worse, BBC Sherlock facilitated almost the entirety of my first relationship, my first exploration of both my sexuality and the manifestation of that sexuality in love for another girl, and made me pretty damn good at writing dialogue.
> 
> Which is all to say three things:  
> 1) This was a birthday gift to that partner, given to them after they became my ex. And I'm damn proud of it, source material aside.  
> 2) If we all get one irredeemable murder stan with a vaguely tragic backstory, then Jim Moriarty is mine  
> 3) This takes place in one of the alternate universes we created, and a little bit of explanation is required to understand this fic. In this AU, Jim and Sherlock meet ~5 years before the start of the show; what starts as a one-night stand quickly spirals into something more, encouraging Jim to press the brakes on his burgeoning criminal enterprise. One Charles Augustus Magnussen intercedes and blackmails Jim into continuing his career as a consulting criminal-- but with Magnussen as the puppet master behind it all. Subsequently, Jim reenters the criminal underworld under the guise of Richard Brooke while simultaneously solving crimes (many of which he also orchestrated) with his boyfriend Sherlock Holmes.
> 
> So, with all my rambling out of the way, I now present... A Scandal in Matrimony!

“Love, your phone’s ringing.”

“Mmm, don’t care.”

“Could be someone important.”

“No one’s more important than you.”

“That’s sweet, dear, but I think it’s Lestrade- could be about a case.”

“A case?”

That got Sherlock moving, scrambling across the bed and over Jim in his haste. Jim let out a small chuckle as he watched his love dive for the phone. Sherlock hit answer as he stood to pace about the bedroom. “Godfrey! Tell me you-“ Sherlock stopped abruptly, and the giddy grin vanished just as quickly. He let out an annoyed sigh. “As usual, you’ve failed spectacularly. You really need to stop calling me on your boyfriend’s phone; you got me so excited for nothing.”

Jim frowned as well; whatever was Mycroft bothering them about now? _What if he knows? What if he’s figured something out? What if Magnussen has told him something?_ “Secret service?” _Not Magnussen, then._ “Are you sure you can’t get us a case involving royalty instead?” _Definitely not Magnussen. Good._

“Because Jim would prefer royalty. He has a thing for crowns.” Another pause as Jim grinned at his boyfriend, and then an offended, “What? …I’ll try my best; I make no guarantees for Jim… yes, yes, goodbye.” Sherlock hung up with a stab of his thumb.

“What does Mikey Holmes want now?” Jim asked.

“We’re hosting nobility,” Sherlock replied. “A colleague of Mycroft’s has a case for us.”

“Involving what?” Jim pressed.

Sherlock shrugged. “He didn’t tell me. No doubt something boring- tracking down an promiscuous wife or a lost family fortune or a runaway heir. He did, however, tell us to be presentable.”

“…so we should wear the bedsheet.”

“We should definitely wear the bedsheet.”

The Marquess of Kirkwall was not someone he had ever seen or heard of before, and for that, Jim Moriarty was eternally grateful. Ever since the run-in with the cabbie last year, they had been taking too many cases too close to his underground presence. Too many people who had either met Richard Brooke or heard his voice or been hired by him or came to him for help. But thankfully, not him, not this young marquess who was doing his very best not to gawk at Jim and Sherlock while they sat on the couch underneath the bedsheet.

“I don’t think he heard you,” Jim offered as the gawking stretched on.

Sherlock sighed. “Marquess Mountbatten, if you would,” he gestured to the chairs again. “Sit down.”

The marquess blinked before glancing over his shoulder at the armchairs. “Right. Yeah. I- yeah.” He moved to finally sit down but stopped and stood up again. “Sorry, you’re… are you two…?”

Sherlock sighed again, and Jim could practically hear the other man rolling his eyes. “Yes, we’re naked under this sheet, and we are not getting any younger under it either, so why don’t you sit down and tell us why my brother tolerated your sputtering long enough to find out you needed our help and sent you here?”

The marquess’ face turned red at that. “You would address a noble, your better-“

“The peerage system is an antiquated tradition that only continues to exist to give members of Britain’s entitled white elite such as yourself a sense of relevancy and superiority in a world that is doing its best to forget the atrocities of the British Empire,” Sherlock stated flatly. “You are in no way my better, except by the unfortunate accident of your birth, which is absolutely meaningless, so don’t give me that ‘I am your better’ crap again. Just sit down and tell us why you’re here with a matter that you clearly cannot take to Scotland Yard and which your personal men have failed to deal with.”

The marquess started gaping again. “Don’t try to deny it; your reaction to my boyfriend and I and our flat clearly suggests that crawling to a pair of commoners for help was not your first idea, yet here you are nonetheless, so we are your last resort, and if you want our help, you would do well to sit down and think very, _very_ carefully before you speak again. Is that understood, William Mountbatten, Marquess of Kirkwall?”

Mountbatten nodded before finally sitting down, still wide-eyed and red-faced. Jim grinned at the young marquess and leaned over to nip Sherlock’s ear. “Isn’t he sexy when he’s bossing people around?”

Jim was rewarded with a near-imperceptible hitch in Sherlock’s breath. “Darling, behave yourself; we have company.”

“But it’s so hard to behave when you’re being so damn sexy,” Jim murmured, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s neck. “I can hardly help myself around you.”

“Yes, but remember the last time you didn’t keep your hands and mouth to yourself while we were talking to a client?” Sherlock asked.

Jim paused at that. He did indeed remember, and it had involved several minutes on the wrong side of Sherlock’s riding crop. With a grumble he pulled away, turning his attention back to the beet-red marquess before them. This was what he got for settling for his last resort- the smartest and sexiest men in London who couldn’t keep to themselves for too long.

“It’s usually best to just ignore him,” Sherlock suggested, to which Jim responded with a huff. “Hush. Now, Marquess Mountbatten, what is it you need? And remember to choose your words carefully.”

Mountbatten actually took a moment to think about what he was going to say, and while he thought, he reached down to shift a gold diamond-studded engagement band around his ring finger. Chances of this being about his marriage? One-hundred percent.

“I’m getting married soon,” Mountbatten offered at last.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve run into a bit of trouble with a…” Mountbatten trailed off, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “A woman. _The_ Woman.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sherlock asked. “The Woman?”

“It’s the pseudonym of a dominatrix based in London,” Jim answered before Mountbatten could.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “How the hell do you know that?”

Jim grinned. “Sebastian.”

“Her real name is Irene Adler,” Mountbatten added quickly, “and she wasn’t always based in London. She was once near Kirkwall; I was,” he rubbed at his neck again, “something of a regular of hers while she was there- until I found out she had taken pictures of us together before she ran off to London five years ago.”

“And now you’re worried she’s going to use those pictures to ruin your marriage,” Sherlock stated.

Mountbatten nodded. “I’ve done everything I could think of to get them back from her. Asking, bribing, begging. I even had some men… look through her house a few days ago, but even they couldn’t find it, and the last time I approached her about it, she told me if I came near her again, she’d send the photos to my entire family!”

Jim gave a soft scoff. “And that’s not at all an appropriate response to your stalking.”

“I just want those pictures back!” Mountbatten protested. “And then I’ll leave her alone!”

“And you want us to retrieve them,” Sherlock said.

“Yes!”

“Quite frankly, Marquess, this sounds beneath us.” Sherlock turned to Jim, waiting for his opinion on whether or not to take the case.

But beneath them as it may be, it was also not in any way related to Richard Brooke, and that would be a nice change of pace for Jim. Besides, if he could keep Sherlock distracted with some demeaning work, he’d have some time to focus on his plan for getting rid of Magnussen.

So Jim shrugged. “It might be a nice little break. Besides, we don’t know when the next triple murder is gonna happen- we should take what we can get.” Sherlock frowned. “It’s better than nothing, isn’t it? Better than being bored?”

“I suppose,” Sherlock muttered. “Very well, Marquess. May I assume you’ve attempted to take the pictures off of Ms. Adler’s physical person?”

The Marquess nodded. “A couple times now.”

“So she must keep the pictures in her house,” Sherlock declared. “If they’re so important to her, she wouldn’t risk putting them in a bank or a safety deposit box; I doubt those are out of your reach, Marquess. No, the house is the only place where she can keep her eye on them herself- and really, if you want a job done right. So- Jim, I’m about to stand up.” Jim stood up just in time, barely remaining covered by the sheet. Without a moment of hesitation, Sherlock took off for their bedroom. “I’m going to need her address.”

The moment the marquess gave it to them, they both had it memorized, and Jim could all but see Sherlock’s mind moving, mapping the best route from their flat to her house in the form of twitches in his eyebrows and glances about the hallway.

“How do you plan on getting in?” Jim asked as they shuffled into the bedroom.

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ll think of something soon. Thanks to the marquess, Ms. Adler will be on alert for someone trying to steal the photos, so approaching her as ourselves is not an option. We’ll need a disguise of some kind- possibly one that will appeal to her feminine instincts.”

Jim barely stifled a snort. “‘Feminine instincts’?”

“A desire to help, take care of, tend to,” Sherlock answered with a small wave of his hand. “Feminine instincts. Perhaps one of us could fake an injury- or better, a mugging; we’ll have sustained minor injuries and had our phones and wallets stolen, rendering us incapable of calling the police or using a cab. Short of punching each other, though, I’m not sure how we’ll sustain these minor injuries- and for obvious reasons, that’s not an ideal option.”

Jim thought this over for a moment before stepping out of the sheet so he could grab his phone off the nightstand. “Leave that to me, darling.”

 

Seb, how do you feel about punching Sherlock and I? -JM

 

* * *

 

 

Irene Adler had had the incredible fortune of looking outside the window at the exact right moment to see Sherlock Holmes coming towards her house. It had taken a moment to recognize the bloody, stumbling man as the consulting detective her girlfriend had been so enamored with, but there was no mistaking that Belstaff. Molly had shown her more than enough pictures of it- and of him, flipping through photos on her phone and tracing her fingers over the stark cheekbones and thick scratchy fabric while sighing his name.

 _She always says his name with a sigh._ When they had first met, it had been a sad, yearning _Sherlock…_ , but the years had turned it dismissive and regretful, a lament of all the time she had wasted on a man as cruel and abrasive as him.

And that man was walking towards her house, accompanied by a man Irene could only assume was the boyfriend Molly had mentioned briefly. They were both detectives- what could they possibly want with her?

_William._

Irene scowled. Of course- what else could this possibly be about? The Marquess of Kirkwall had taken her threat seriously and could no longer approach her directly, so he had found someone to do his job for him, someone he was hoping she wouldn’t recognize or connect to him. If she had to wager a guess, the injuries they were both sporting were part of it too- a way into her house without revealing themselves as detectives. Perhaps they’d feign being mugged? Ask to use the phone to call a taxi, and then do something to find the camera phone.

The most obvious solution would be to not answer them when they came to the door, but this was Sherlock Holmes. If his deductive skills were half of what Molly made them out to be, he’d have no trouble noticing she was, in fact, home. And if they suspected she wasn’t answering the door on purpose, they might suspect she was on to them. No, they had to think she was fooled while she knew their plan, lest they change it. She had to play along.

But what if she gave away the camera phone’s location in the process? What if one of them deduced where it was? They couldn’t take it away from her; it was the only thing keeping William at bay.

 _“He’s absolutely brilliant,” Molly murmured. “He can just look at your shoes or your watch, and_ **_know_ ** _.”_

_“Know what?”_

_“Everything! What you had for breakfast, how many pets you have, where you were born, how many siblings you have, where you’ve been recently if you’ve been out of the city. I’ve never seen him not be able to get_ **_something_ ** _off of someone.”_

Well, Irene would have to be the first. Maybe if there weren’t any shoes or watches, nothing to glean hints off of, she could fool them. Stripping took no time at all, and she already had her makeup done, so her battle armor was ready by the time one of them rung the bell. Now all she had to do was let them in. And what did she care for modesty? As long as she didn’t step through the front door, surely answering it naked didn’t count as public indecency.

The reaction from the two men made it more than worth it. They both stared at her for a moment. Then Sherlock tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, forehead just barely scrunching. He was trying to read something off of her- and he was failing.

The other one, James or John or something like that, dropped his gaze to the floor as he chuckled. “Darling, you really don’t want to know what I’m thinking about right now.”

Sherlock turned at that, glaring at his boyfriend. “Is it your threesome fantasy?”

“Yes.”

“It’s always the threesome fantasy.” Sherlock shook his head before looking at her again. Still staring quizzically. Good. “We’re terribly-” he squinted harder, as if it would help, “sorry to bother you; you do seem to be in the middle of something, but my boyfriend and I were just mugged. We had our phones and wallets stolen. I’m sure we haven’t made the most flattering first impressions, but if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Irene stepped away from the door. Just as she’d guessed, a fake mugging. “I can spare some pounds for a cab fare, and there’s a First-Aid kit in the bathroom off of the parlor upstairs.” Get them into the parlor; get them into the room with the camera phone and see what they do. “Unless you’d prefer to use the landline to call an ambulance?”

The two men shared a glance as they made their way inside. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sherlock announced.

“Though we should call Scotland Yard,” the boyfriend added.

Irene closed the door behind them. “The landline is there,” she nodded at the phone by the stairs.

Another glance between the men. “I’ll call them,” the boyfriend offered at last. “Why don’t you and…?”

“Irene,” she replied. “Irene Adler.”

“Why don’t you and Ms. Adler start with that First-Aid kit?” the man finished. He rolled up on the tips of his toes to kiss Sherlock’s bruised cheek. “You did get the worst of it.”

A small smile played on Sherlock’s lips as he returned the kiss. He was never smiling in any of Molly’s photos. “Very well. Don’t be long.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll show you to the parlor,” Irene added before turning away from the men and heading up the stairs. She could feel both of them watching her back. There was some giggling and huffing, but eventually, a pair of footsteps followed her.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Any reason for your particular ensemble?”

Irene shrugged. “It’s what I feel comfortable in. Does it bother you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Sherlock replied. “The body is a vessel for the mind, and the mind is what interests me.”

A curious response, one Irene would have to get him to elaborate on later. “And is there any particular reason why you haven’t given me you and your boyfriend’s names yet?”

“My brother would say it’s my atrocious manners,” Sherlock answered. “I am Sherlock Holmes; his name is James Moriarty.”

Irene nodded, pretending this was new information. “How long have you been together?”

“Five years next month.”

 _Almost the same as Molly and I._ “Well, congratulations.” Irene led Sherlock into the parlor and gestured to the white couch. “Please, have a seat Mr. Holmes; I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock did as instructed, and Irene kept listening for movement as she slipped into the bathroom. She grabbed the First-Aid kit and wetted a towel before heading back into the parlor. Sherlock hadn’t moved, though he had become fascinated with the furniture. Turning to it, perhaps, because he could not deduce anything off of her. She wondered if he knew there was a safe above the fireplace- and if he did, did he have any reason to suspect its contents?

She had to keep him occupied. “Here’s the kit; would you like me to help?”

“No, that’s quite alright,” Sherlock said as he took the kit and the towel. “Jim should be up in just a minute.”

Irene nodded again, but before she could respond, her phone began to ring. The second verse of _Landslide_ , as performed by the cast of Glee, began to echo through the room. Molly’s ringtone.

_Well I’ve been afraid of changin’_

_’Cause I built my life around you_

_But time makes you bolder_

_Even children get older_

“Do you mind if I-?”

“What?” Sherlock glanced her way. “Oh, no, go ahead.”

Irene hit ‘answer’. “Hello, darling.”

“Hi!” Irene couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Molly’s voice. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Of course,” Irene said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well, you’ve been sort of… off, lately,” Molly admitted. “Distracted.”

Irene grimaced at that. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“Because it’s not,” Irene insisted. “Just… a client has been stirring up a bit of trouble.” She glanced at Sherlock, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. “I’m pretty sure I’ve sorted it out now, though. So I am definitely on for dinner.”

“Great!” Molly exclaimed. “Because, well, I was thinking… I mean, I love carry-out and Glee, but maybe- it’s gonna be five years in a couple months, so maybe we could, or I could, really, take you out somewhere? Somewhere nice? It’s just, you’ve taken me to all these amazing high-end restaurants over the years, and I was thinking, I should treat you to something special every once and awhile too, and- oh, I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Sorry, I’ll just-”

“You don’t have to apologize, dear,” Irene interrupted softly. “I’d absolutely love to go somewhere special with you. Where did you have in mind?”

“I’ll text you the address,” Molly replied. “It’s a cute _tapas_ bar downtown; it’s not as nice as some of the place’s you’ve taken me, but I know you love Spanish food, so.”

Irene smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely. Did you get reservations?”

“Not yet,” Molly said. “I wanted to call you first- does 19:30 work for you?”

“That’s perfect,” Irene said. “See you then?”

“Yeah! Oh, wait, you- you should wear something nice. I mean, n-not that what you wear isn’t always n-nice, but…” Irene chuckled as Molly trailed off.

“I’ll wear something special for a special night out,” Irene promised. “I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too!”

With a sigh, Irene hung up. Well, now she had to get this sorted. She could not let William ruin her evening with Molly. She had to find a way to get him to leave her alone; she had so much to lose…

She glanced at Sherlock again. He was still tending to his face, but his boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. Calling Scotland Yard couldn’t be taking that long, could it?

And at that, the fire alarm went off.

Irene’s gaze went immediately to the safe above the fireplace, to the camera phone she knew was inside- the one thing she had to guarantee William stayed away. If she lost it, if it burned, she would lose the one thing keeping him away from her, away from Molly. But she couldn’t grab it, not without revealing where it- _oh SHIT_

Irene whirled back around to Sherlock, who had followed her gaze to fireplace. No no no, now he _knew_ , and now… now _she_ knew he knew. Now if it survived the fire, she could come back for it and hide it somewhere else, and he’d be none the wiser. Oh yes, she could make this work.

But first, there was the issue of the fire alarm.

“We should leave,” Sherlock suggested.

“Nudity in my own house is one thing,” Irene replied. “On the streets, it’s quite another.”

He let out a soft huff before shedding his Belstaff coat and offering it to her. Irene smirked and took it; it was more than enough to cover her in her entirety. Even clothed, she did not move towards the door. She refused to leave first, lest Sherlock linger and try to take the camera phone now. He huffed again (clearly, that had been the plan) and hurried out the door. Irene followed behind, and they found James waiting outside the house for them, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Damn,” James murmured. “And I thought Sherlock looked hot when that coat was the only thing he was wearing.”

The firefighters arrived five minutes later and promptly informed them that the alarm seemed to be triggered by nothing since nothing was actually on fire. Perhaps, they said, it had been a candle or burning incense. Irene figured that for bullshit because she had not lit any candles and she did not own any incense. And that left only one explanation- that Moriarty had managed to trigger the alarm while she was with Sherlock in order to get her to look at the safe, that this too was part of their plan. It had been clever, and the amount of work they had put into it was admirable.

But it wasn’t enough.

The house was clear, and when they went back inside, Irene returned the Belstaff (which definitely had a phone and a wallet in the front pocket), called a cab for them, and gave them money for the fare. The two men, now temporarily thwarted, didn’t seem nearly as eager to stay.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“But why didn’t you grab it while you were there?”

Sherlock shot a dark glare at the marquess standing behind him. “I told you, I couldn’t. If I had taken the time to crack the safe, she might have gotten suspicious and come back into the room, and then what? If she had caught me in the act?”

“But how do we know she’s not here now?” the marquess insisted.

“I overheard a phone call with her lover,” Sherlock answered. “She’s currently on a date which started,” he glanced at his watch, “ten minutes ago.”

“The time could’ve changed,” the marquess argued, “or she could be running late, or-”

“Sherlock, please tell him to shut up,” Jim grumbled. “I can’t hear the lock with him blabbering.”

Sherlock turned to the marquess. “Shut up.”

“But-!”

“Shut. Up.”

“Finally!”

Jim pulled away from the door and straightened as he tucked his lock picking kit back into his pocket. He opened the front door to Irene Adler’s house and invited them inside with a sweeping bow.

“Excellent work, love,” Sherlock murmured, kissing Jim on the cheek. Sebastian had, thankfully, been inclined to spare Jim’s face (though for some reason he had not been so kind to Sherlock). “Now, this way.”

He led them through the house- up the stairs and into the parlor. It didn’t take long to find the safe, and as it would happen, it did not take long to open the safe either (“Her measurements- clever, but easy to guess with the right eye for keypads and hip size.”). There was a camera phone inside; Sherlock picked it up and tossed it to the marquess.

“I believe you’ll find the pictures you’re looking for on this phone.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, “But there’s nothing here!”

Sherlock blinked. “What?”

“There’s nothing in the photos! There’s nothing on the phone for that matter- no password, default screensaver, no contacts, no apps; nothing!”

Frowning, Sherlock strode across the room to the marquess, who held up the phone with trembling fingers. Sherlock snatched it from him, but there was indeed nothing on the phone. As he turned it over in his hands, it buzzed, the noise accompanied by a woman’s erotic sigh announcing a new text message from an unknown number.

 

Call me. <3

 

Sherlock hit ‘call’ immediately.

“Not the camera phone you were expecting, Mr. Holmes?”

“Ms. Adler.” Sherlock glanced at Jim, hoping his boyfriend would have some insight into what exactly was going on, but Jim merely shrugged. “I thought you were on a date.”

“I convinced her to postpone it so I could deal with you.”

“You knew what we were after all along.”

“And I’m afraid I always knew who you were too,” Irene added. “Tell me, is William with you?”

Sherlock glanced at the marquess. “Yes.”

“Be a dear and put me on speakerphone, will you?”

Sherlock did as instructed; he put the phone on speaker and held it out. “So, you’ve taken the phone and moved it to another secret location. Believe me when I tell you, Ms. Adler, there is no where on this planet that I could not find it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Irene replied. “That’s why I’m left with no choice but to convince you not to try to find it. Let me tell you a little bit of information your client surely left out while he was hiring you, and at the end of my story, if you’re still interested in ruining my life, by all means. The real camera phone is on my person, and I’ve already given you all the information you need to find me tonight.”

“I have a reputation as a very stubborn man,” Sherlock warned. “What makes you think you can convince me?”

“My girlfriend is a fan of yours,” Irene answered, “and she’s told me that though you struggle with morality, you are ultimately a good person, and I believe a good person will be swayed by my story.”

A fan? The cabbie from last year had mentioned a fan by the name of Brooke but had referred to the fan with masculine pronouns. And why would that fan, a fan who orchestrated murders, be in such intimate contact with Adler? It could be one of  _ those _ fans- the obsessive heart-eyed girls who followed his every move, but none of them could possibly be in a relationship.

Sherlock shook his head. Not relevant. He was, after all, working a case. “Very well, Ms. Adler. What is it you want to tell me about the marquess?”

“Did he tell you I used to work near his mansion?”

“Yes.” Sherlock glanced at the marquess, who was shifting uncomfortably. “He also told us he was a regular of yours.”

Irene laughed. “Oh yes, a ‘regular’ is one way of putting it. I prefer to say he was obsessed with me. He’s not the first client of mine who has become more invested in our relationship than I felt comfortable, but he was the first who persisted after I cut off contact and refused to service them again. He began to stalk me- showing up at my house while I was with other clients, and when I wasn’t working at all, following me to the store and around the neighborhood. He demanded that I see him again.”

“And yet you turned to blackmail rather than going to the police,” Sherlock stated.

She laughed again; it was beginning to annoy him. “Spoken like a man! A police officer would have been just as likely to help me as they would have been to arrest me as well for daring to accuse a Marquess of such things, and the men would have been more than inclined to take advantage of my vulnerability, if you understand me. I was acting out of necessity, Mr. Holmes. I permitted William to visit one more time, and during our last session, I took the photographs. I then told him not to come near me again lest I send them to his family, and I packed all of my things and moved to London five years ago.

“And then, he decided to show up again. I don’t know why, and I don’t care; I only want him to leave me alone, and I swear on my life, those pictures will never see the light of day if he does.”

Sherlock blinked. He was not terribly inclined towards sentiment or sympathy, but this woman, The Woman, had outsmarted him. Was that not enough to earn, if not his sympathy, then his respect? And was that not enough to earn her the undisturbed life she was asking for?

“Marquess, I do believe you no longer have use of our services,” Sherlock announced softly, turning to the marquess, who was fuming.

“I absolutely do,” Mountbatten snarled. “How can I trust her not to ruin my marriage?”

“I don’t care about your bloody marriage!” Irene cried. “I don’t care about you; I just want to live my life without you harassing me, and if you promise to do that, I promise to do the same!”

Mountbatten shook his head. “The pictures- I have to have the pictures.”

“And I have to keep them,” Irene snapped. “They’re the only guarantee I have that you won’t start stalking me again.”

“If you gave me the pictures, you’d have my word-”

“Your word isn’t good enough,” Irene interrupted. “I’m keeping the photos; you can’t get them without Mr. Holmes’ assistance, and he is no longer giving it to you. You lost; I won.” Sherlock barely stifled a chuckle as the marquess went beet-red and gaped, mouth opening and shutting like some sort of beached fish. “Now, I have a very strong suspicion that my girlfriend is proposing to me tonight, and I’m late for our date, so if you gentlemen would excuse me. Oh, and Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes?”

“When it happens, I’ll see you at the wedding.”

With that, Ms. Adler hung up.

Sherlock gave a small, slight smile. What a refreshing twist. It was rare to come across someone smart enough to beat him- and it was amusing to watch the marquess be beaten alongside him.

“Don’t think I’m paying you for this,” the marquess warned before stalking off, grumbling and red.

“Good riddance,” Jim muttered.

“Well, that’s the last time I take a case from my brother,” Sherlock declared. He pocketed the camera phone, took Jim’s hand, and led him out of the parlor. “Working with stupid nobility is even more exhausting than working with stupid normal people.”

Jim nodded. They stepped out the front door, and Jim squatted down to relock it. “Have you figured out where she is?”

Sherlock shook his head. “We shouldn’t disturb her on her happy night; she’s earned that at least.”

“Aren’t you curious? It’s not like you to ignore a puzzle,” Jim commented.

“I’ll figure it out later,” Sherlock replied, waving his hand dismissively, “and anyway, I think we’ve earned a nice night alone ourselves. We haven’t done a real date night in a while.”

Jim glanced up from the lock, staring at him over his shoulder. “What, is ravenous sex getting boring?”

“Not boring,” Sherlock assured him with a chuckle. “Just… it might be nice to go out for dinner.” He thought back to Ms. Adler’s conversation with her paramour. “Somewhere special. And then we can go home and get to the ravenous sex.”

Jim gave him a small smile before turning back to the door. “Yeah. Yeah that would be nice.” He finished with the lock and stood up, taking Sherlock’s hand. “Did you have anywhere in mind?”

Sherlock shook his head. “We can head back to the flat and find somewhere nearby.”

“Perfect.” Jim pressed himself close to Sherlock’s side as he threw up a hand for a cab. After a moment, he softly asked, “Do you think we’ll ever get married? I mean, assuming one day we’ll be able to, of course.”

Sherlock considered the question for a moment. “Married, maybe, but I have no interest in a wedding. Too many people for too long, and too expensive.” He paused. “Why? Do you want to?”

“Maybe,” Jim replied. “We have been together for nearly five years; I’m pretty sure most people marry by that point.”

“Most people who can.”

Jim shrugged. “We could move to Spain long enough to get married there, or get engaged and wait, like I assume Ms. Adler is doing- fucking cabbies are ignoring me, I swear.”

Sherlock chuckled and kissed Jim’s forehead. “You’re not aggressive enough, dear.” He let go of Jim’s hand and strode into the street, hand in the air. A cab finally came to a stop beside them, and Sherlock and Jim climbed in. Sherlock gave the cabbie the address of their flat. “There is the issue of the names, though. I don’t fancy myself as ‘Sherlock Moriarty’.”

Jim wrinkled his nose. “Absolutely not. No, I’d take your name. ‘Jim Holmes’ sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“As long as you don’t mind sharing the same last name as my brother,” Sherlock replied with a smirk.

“Why did you have to mention that?” Jim demanded, his entire face scrunching up in disgust. “Ugh. If I marry you, he’s gonna be my brother-in-law! That’s disgusting!”

“Sorry, love,” Sherlock said, kissing his cheek. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure he’s just as appalled by the idea as you are.”

Jim let out a long, heavy sigh. “Ugh. God, being married to you better be worth it.”

“Our honeymoon will more than make up for Mycroft,” Sherlock assured him.

Jim grinned at that. “Oh yeah. Sex all around the world? No cases, no work, no M-” there was just the slightest pause, so tiny Sherlock was sure he was the only one who could have noticed; he wondered if he should be worried about it, “no Mycroft, no nothing. Just you and me, making love across the globe? I couldn’t think of anything better.”

 

* * *

Molly hadn’t expected Irene to look anything less than absolutely stunning, and still she was blown away. The other woman stood in the doorway of the  _ tapas  _ bar in a red sleeveless cocktail dress; the top was studded with sequins, and the ruffled skirt barely reached her knees. She had her Sexy Makeup on- the red eyeshadow and the red lipstick and the wicked winged eyeliner. Every inch a dominatrix, a queen, and she was  _ Molly’s _ .

Molly’s stomach inverted as Irene grinned at her from across the restaurant and made her way towards the small circular table. The restaurant had been more than happy to move their reservation up a half hour, which Molly was incredibly grateful for because it had taken enough just to work up the nerve to invite Irene out tonight; if she’d had to postpone…

“So sorry again that I had to be late,” Irene said as she sat down.

“It’s fine,” Molly assured her. “Was it the client you mentioned earlier?”

Irene nodded. “But I promise I’ve really dealt with it now.”

Molly smiled at that. “That’s good to hear; your clients scare me sometimes… do you want to look at the menu?”

Irene nodded again, and Molly handed her the menu. “When I was picking out the restaurant, I made sure to find somewhere with all your favorites-  _ buñelitos de bacalao, patatas bravas, pan au tomate _ .”

Irene gave an approving hum. “I certainly appreciate the thought. We really should visit Barcelona again sometime soon.”

Molly nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from blurting out  _ maybe on the honeymoon _ . Christ, she hadn’t even asked the question yet. And Irene hadn’t said yes. And even if she had asked and Irene had said yes, it wasn’t even legal yet. Yes, she had gotten very far ahead of herself.

“Definitely,” Molly agreed. “Do you want to look at the wine menu too?”

“If this really is going to be a special night out,” Irene said as she took the wine menu, “we should start with some cava. I wonder if they have any.”

Molly shrugged. She still didn’t fully understand why it wasn’t champagne if it was a sparkling wine, but apparently the name changed depending on the region it came from. For some reason. “I have no idea; I’ll let you make the alcohol decisions.”

Irene shot her a grin that made Molly’s stomach lurch. She took a deep breath, clenching her hands around the napkin in her lap. She could do this- she would do this, and she should really do it now or else she was going to spend the entire dinner worrying and stressing. But the tiny black velvet box felt like a loadstone in her dress pocket, and her tongue felt like lead in her mouth; the only thing she seemed able to move were her hands, and that was only to twist her fingers around her napkin and dig her nails into her palms.

“Molly?”

Molly blinked at the sound of her name and looked up to see Irene staring at her, head quirked slightly. “S-sorry, what?”

“How was work?” Irene repeated.

“Oh! Fine,” Molly said. “Nothing terribly exciting; there haven’t been any murders yet this week, but that also means Sherlock wasn’t there, which is always nice.” She let out a soft sigh. “There’s only so much being bossed around by him I can take in a month.”

“Screw Sherlock Holmes,” Irene suggested. “Let’s just focus on our nice night out without thinking about that pompous prick.”

Molly grinned. “Gladly.” Irene had taught her that there were much nicer things to think about than Sherlock Holmes. Like people who could be attractive and intelligent and still be capable of kindness and empathy and love. People like Irene.

Molly chewed her lip.  _ Now now I should just do it I can’t I-  _ “Actually, I have a quick question.”

Irene looked up from the menu. “What is it?”

A blush rose to Molly’s cheeks.  _ Damnit why did I have to say anything quick think of something to say instead of actually asking her!  _ “Uh- well, I… um… n-nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Molly repeated. “It’s… it’s nothing. I-I forgot.”

“You can’t forget nothing,” Irene commented softly. “Molly, what is it?”

“I, well, um…”  _ Just do it just say it say something coherent before she gets tired of listening to you stammer and leaves!  _ “Well, I-I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

There was an infinite patience in Irene’s voice that calmed Molly a bit. Irene would put up with the stuttering long enough to at least hear her through. She always did. “I was just thinking- in a few months, we’ll have been together for five years. Five really wonderful years. And, well, I’m pretty sure if I was with a bloke for that long, my mum would be hounding me to marry him, and the only reason she isn’t hounding me about you is because it’s not actually legal yet, but I-” 

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring box. “I saw this last week- actually, while I was looking for something for you for our five year anniversary, b-but anyway, it was so pretty, and I thought, maybe, just in case, if I ever worked up the nerve to actually a-a-ask you, I’d be ready…”

Molly trailed off, and for the first time, she looked up from the table cloth and dared a glance at Irene. The other woman had her hand over her mouth, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes.

Molly decided that was probably a good sign and plowed forward by popping open the box. “S-s-so, I know I’ve made a rambling mess of this, but this is me, asking you if…” She stopped again as Irene let out a muffled sobbing noise. “If- are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Irene whispered. “I’m absolutely wonderful; oh, please ask me already!”

“Will you marry me?!” Molly exclaimed, unable to contain herself any longer.

Irene nodded as tears streaked down her cheeks. “Yes! A thousand times yes, Molly, oh my god…” She laughed breathlessly. “Can you-” She thrust a shaking hand across the table. “Can you put it on?”

“Yes, of course!” Molly pried the ring from the box. It was a simple gold band with a blue cat’s eye gem in the middle. “It’s no diamond, but it fell a little more nicely in my budget range.” She slid it onto Irene’s ring finger. “Besides, I thought it suited us, two crazy cat ladies.”

Irene laughed again and held her hand to her face, admiring the ring. “Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful, Molly. Did you get one for yourself?”

Molly nodded. “It’s back at my flat; I can show it to you after dinner.”

Irene let out a soft, content sigh as she played with the band between her fingers. “You know, I had a feeling you were planning something like this, but I had no idea how wonderful it would be to actually  _ hear _ someone say it. I never thought…”

Molly frowned as Irene’s smile faded. “Never thought what?”

“Well, with my profession, I never thought…” Irene trailed off again, more tears forming in her eyes. “I didn’t think anyone would ever look past my body long enough to want me for anything else.”

“Irene, I’ve always-!”

“I know,” Irene interrupted softly, and the smile returned, smaller this time. “I know you have, and that’s why I love you so damn much; I just… God, I love you, and I love myself even more because of it.”

Molly beamed at Irene. “I know just what you mean.”

Irene’s smile widened, and she reached across the table to take Molly’s hand, squeezing it gently. Molly returned the squeeze just as their waitress came over. She gave them a slight, knowing smile. “Good evening, ladies. I’d like to offer you these,” she nodded to two full champagne flutes on her tray, “compliments from the gentlemen over there.” She nodded across the restaurant.

Molly turned and saw Sherlock and his boyfriend sitting at a booth against the wall, talking softly, both smiling and happy. “Oh. Um, tell them thank you.” The waitress nodded and set the flutes down on the table. “What a coincidence. I wonder why they didn’t say anything when they came in.”

Irene shrugged, though there was a smirk on her lips that suggested she had something to do with this- whatever ‘this’ was. “Perhaps they didn’t want to bother us.”

“Hasn’t stopped Sherlock before,” Molly replied.

Irene shrugged again. “I have a feeling today has been a day of firsts for him.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?!”

Irene only giggled. “Why don’t we order, and then I’ll tell you the full story of what’s been going on with me for the past few weeks?”

Molly sighed, shaking her head. “Okay- you can order, though; I trust you to pick some good stuff.”

Irene turned back to their waiter while Molly chanced another glance across the restaurant. Sherlock turned at the right moment to catch her eye, and he gave her a small smile. There was a time when getting a smile from Sherlock would’ve sent butterflies rampaging through Molly’s stomach, and the smallest nice act from him would’ve made her entire month no matter how well she knew that he was only nice conditionally, when he wanted something from her.

But that time had passed, and Molly couldn’t be happier for it. Nothing in her life compared to learning to love someone who was unconditional with her niceness and her love, someone who lifted her up instead of tearing her down, someone who made her love herself more rather than less.

So Molly returned the small smile before turning back to Irene. Irene finished ordering and turned to Molly, a wide, breathtaking smile on her face. And looking at her, her  _ fiancée _ , Molly knew she was the luckiest woman on the planet.


End file.
